CHAPTER 18

BLADES & BREAKAWAYS

Chapter 18: The Final Game

Blake Sinclair's POV

The arena is alive-a pulsing, roaring beast of sound and energy.

Even from the stands, I can feel the electricity in the air. Thousands of fans in blue and white jerseys, screaming Ryker's name. The New York Titans' logo flashing across the jumbotron. The ice, pristine and gleaming under the fluorescent lights, waiting for the battle to begin.

I should be used to this. I've performed in front of judges, under the scrutiny of cameras, with the weight of an entire country's expectations on my shoulders. But this-hockey-it's different. Louder. Harsher. Unforgiving.

And tonight, Ryker is at the center of it all.

My hands tighten around the fabric of my coat as I scan the rink, searching for him. He hasn't come out yet, but I know he's there-somewhere beneath the surface, preparing for war.

"Are you nervous?"

I blink, glancing at Cole, who's seated next to me. His expression is unreadable, but there's something knowing in his gaze.

I exhale, forcing a smile. "For him? Never."

It's a lie. Of course I'm nervous.

This game isn't just a game. It's everything.

A championship decider. A career-defining moment. A test of whether Ryker can survive in a world that has spent the last few weeks tearing him apart.

Because of me.

I swallow hard, pushing that thought away before it can fester. No. This isn't my fault. Ryker made his choice-to stand by me, to fight for what we have, even when the world told him not to.

But still...

My gaze flickers to the rink entrance, as if I can will him to appear.

Please, Ryker. Let tonight be your night.

I can't sit still.

The anxiety is a living thing under my skin, clawing at me, making my pulse race. So I do the only thing that makes sense-I go to him.

The security guard outside the locker room hesitates when I approach, but before he can say anything, I hear a voice behind him.

"Let him in."

The guard steps aside, and suddenly, I'm standing in the middle of the Titans' locker room.

The space is alive with tension-players sharpening their focus, adjusting their gear, mentally preparing for the war ahead. But my gaze only finds one person.

Ryker.

He's sitting on a bench, elbows resting on his knees, his hands clenched together. His head is bowed, dark hair damp from the shower. He looks calm, but I know him well enough now to see the cracks beneath the surface.

The moment his eyes meet mine, something shifts.

The noise around us fades. The world narrows.

"Blake?" His voice is rough, laced with surprise. "What are you-"

I don't let him finish.

I step forward, closing the space between us, and lower my voice. "Win or lose, I'll be waiting."

Ryker's breath catches.

For a second, he doesn't move, doesn't speak. Just stares at me like I'm something unreal. Then, slowly, his fingers uncurl, and he reaches out-gripping my wrist, holding me there like he's afraid I'll disappear.

"You mean that?" he asks, voice quieter now.

I nod.

Because I do.

I've spent so much time running-from expectations, from fear, from everything I couldn't control. But not anymore.

Not with him.

Ryker exhales, his grip tightening slightly before he lets go. His eyes burn with something fierce, something raw.

"I have to go," he says, voice reluctant but steady.

I nod again, stepping back. "Then go."

He stands, towering over me, and for a second, I think he might say something else. Instead, he lifts his helmet, pulls it on, and turns toward the door.

And just before he steps onto the ice, he glances back.

One last look. One last promise.

Then he's gone.

I've never seen Ryker play like this.

He's everywhere-fast, ruthless, unstoppable. Every movement is sharp, precise, dripping with controlled fury. He cuts through the ice with terrifying ease, his body a weapon, his focus unbreakable.

And the crowd feels it.

They chant his name, scream for him, for the Titans, for the team that's fighting for victory. The energy is overwhelming, and for the first time, I understand why Ryker loves this.

It's not just a game.

It's a war.

It's his war.

My fingers dig into my coat as I watch, pulse hammering. Every check, every pass, every near miss has me on edge, but Ryker doesn't falter. He's playing the best game of his life.

And then-

Overtime.

The scoreboard is tied, the air thick with anticipation. One goal. One final shot.

The puck drops. Chaos erupts.

And Ryker moves.

I don't think I breathe as he takes the pass, weaving between defenders, dodging a brutal hit at the last second. He's fast-faster than I've ever seen him.

Then-he shoots.

The world slows.

The puck slices through the air, past the goalie's outstretched glove, and slams into the back of the net.

Goal.

For a second, there's silence-stunned, breathless silence.

Then the arena explodes.

The Titans win.

The moment the buzzer sounds, the ice is chaos.

Players flood the rink, throwing their gloves, tackling each other in victorious celebration. The stadium is deafening, the cheers shaking the very air.

But I don't hear any of it.

Because Ryker is skating-**straight toward me.**

My breath catches as he nears the boards, dodging reporters, ignoring the flashing cameras. His gaze is locked onto mine, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

I don't move.

I can't.

And then-

He vaults over the glass.

Gasps ripple through the crowd, but I barely register them before Ryker is in front of me, grabbing my face, pulling me in-

And kissing me.

It's not soft. It's not hesitant. It's fierce, desperate, undeniable.

The world erupts.

I hear the gasps, the camera shutters, the roar of the crowd. But none of it matters.

Because this-this-is Ryker choosing me.

No more hiding. No more fear.

Just us.

He pulls back slightly, forehead resting against mine, breath warm against my skin. His voice is barely a whisper, but I hear it over the storm of noise around us.

"You were right."

I blink, dazed. "About what?"

His lips curve into a slow, breathless smile.

"I wasn't afraid of falling. I was afraid of not jumping."

And then he kisses me again-not caring who sees.

Not caring at all.